


How Do I Love Thee?

by Shay_Moonsilk



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Bottom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley reads love passages, It's Soft, M/M, Poetry, Romance, Service Top Crowley (Good Omens), Top Crowley (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2019-12-22
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:27:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21896665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shay_Moonsilk/pseuds/Shay_Moonsilk
Summary: Aziraphale has preferences for the love stories he stocks in his shelves, but Crowley has some preferences too.Perhaps he may be able to convince Aziraphale that he knows of some good tales.Prompt: Crowley shows off his literary knowledge for his angel.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 132
Collections: O Lord Heal This Gift Exchange





	How Do I Love Thee?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AkiraHakuro](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AkiraHakuro/gifts).



> This was a joy to write! Thank you Akira Hakuro, for the prompt! Most of the quotes come from this website, if you were interested in seeing where these came from, and reading other passages: https://www.stylist.co.uk/books/top-50-most-romantic-quotes-from-literature/124468

Really, Aziraphale only had himself to blame for his arousal. Crowley had been meandering about his bookshop, making his little japes about what a hoarder his angel was, and Aziraphale had felt rather snappish. 

“It’s not _hoarding_ , it’s _collecting_ ,” He stressed, and Crowley snorted. “Honestly, you act like it’s some - some -  _ sin  _ to hold love for classics!” 

“Don’t angelsplain  _ sin _ to me,” Crowley drawled, “And you’re not collecting _classics_ , it’s bloody favoritism to ponces. Shakespeare? Wilde? There are other writers out there sweetheart.” 

Aziraphale ignored the little fluttering his heart made at the endearment. This development was still new for them both, but he suspected that the joy he felt whenever Crowley gave him a pet name would never go away. Which was just fine, because he adored the way Crowley dissolved into syllables whenever he took the demon’s hand. It went both ways, as most things often did with them. 

“I don’t play favorites,” Aziraphale argued, poorly, because Crowley was right, “There are plenty of other writers here! I just... Have a fondness for the romance  _ they  _ write.” 

This earned him another  _ scoff  _ from his dearest demon. “Their romance? Sure, if you like poor communication with a side of death, then yeah,  _ Romeo and Juliet  _ is the greatest one out there. Or! Or maybe you like a good conditional pedestal affair? Then yeah,  _ The Picture of Dorian Gray  _ is  _ perfectly healthy.”  _

“Well then,” Aziraphale crossed his arms. “If  _ you’re _ the expert, let’s see what you think is best.” 

That was a mistake. 

Crowley spent a few moments meandering through the shelves. For someone who claimed not to read, he returned with several novels rather quickly. The speed itself was astounding, considering Aziraphale tried to reorganize every few weeks to ensure customers would find the organization too confusing. Obviously, Crowley understood his organization style well enough to find what he was looking for. And wasn't _that_ just something. 

“ _ You are my heart, my life, my one and only thought.”  _ Crowley said, and Aziraphale paused. 

“Pardon?” 

“Sir Arthur Conan Doyle,  _ The White Company.”  _

“Oh well-”

_ “It has made me better loving you … it has made me wiser, and easier, and brighter.”  _ Crowley said, clearly not yet done. He was reading from the book, not noticing the way Aziraphale’s eyes darkened with lust. “ _ I used to want a great many things before, and to be angry that I did not have them. Theoretically, I was satisfied. I flattered myself that I had limited my wants. But I was subject to irritation; I used to have morbid sterile hateful fits of hunger, of desire. Now I really am satisfied, because I can’t think of anything better.”  _

Distantly, Aziraphale knew such a line was from  _ Portrait of a Lady,  _ but that was not his first thought. No, that was on noticing the  _ stance  _ his demon took. The sultry lilt of his tone as he recited such passion. Really, it was unfair. It wasn’t as though he had said, ‘Darling, please read aloud your favorite lines and make me weak in the knees.’ And yet, that was precisely what was happening. 

“Oh, here’s the one,” Crowley said, pulling out - oh dear. 

Aziraphale’s eyes widened, but before he could say something, Crowley was already rifling through  _ Sonnets of the Portuguese -  _ and really this was just indecent of him! As if he didn’t know what reading  Elizabeth Barrett Browning would do! Crowley cleared his throat, and read: 

_ “How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.  _

_ I love thee to the depth and breadth and height  _

_ My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight  _

_ For the ends of being and ideal grace.  _

_ I love thee to the level of every day’s  _

_ Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.  _

_ I love thee freely, as men strive for right;  _

_ I love thee purely, as they turn from praise.  _

_ I love thee with the passion put to use  _

_ In my old griefs, and with my childhood’s faith.  _

_ I love thee with a love I seemed to lose  _

_ With my lost saints. I love thee with the breath,  _

_ Smiles, tears, of all my life; and, if God choose,  _

_ I shall but love thee better after death.” _

Oh, that wretched, wretched demon. Aziraphale shifted, trying to ignore the heat that stirred within him. Oh, but he could hardly help himself. 

Finally, Crowley looked up, and seemed to  _ notice  _ the look on his angel's face. 

The slow, demonic smile that took over his face should have given Aziraphale pause. 

It should have filled him with fear. 

Instead, he felt a slow excitement. 

Crowley  _ stalked  _ towards him, wrapping his arms around his waist. He lowered his voice, turning his face as to whisper in Aziraphale’s ear. 

_ “He sweeps her hair back from her ears;”  _ Crowley whispered, copying the motion. Aziraphale shuddered,  _ “he swings her above his head. He says she is his émerveillement. He says he will never leave her, not in a million years.  _ Anthony Doerr,  _ All the Light We Cannot See.”  _

“Oh dearest,” Aziraphale begged, “Please, please don’t tease.”

“It’s only teasing if I don’t plan on following through,” He growled, “And oh, do I plan on following through with you.” 

And true to his word, he swept Aziraphale into his arms. “ _ You should be kissed, _ ” He said,  _ “And kissed often, by someone who knows how.” _ Aziraphale flung his arms around Crowley’s neck, pulling him into a kiss. 

Aziraphale pulled away, “ _ Souls meet souls on another’s lips _ ,” He whispered, and Crowley chuckled. Up the stairs they went, letting their lips press together nearly the whole way. Were they merely human, such a feat would not have been possible. But they were hardly human. 

Crowley set his lover down atop the bed, and Aziraphale started to undo his bowtie. Only his hands were batted away by his demon, who began to pull it off of him. 

“ _ “You and I,”  _ Crowley’s voice emerged, overwhelmed in his own passion, _ “it’s as though we have been taught to kiss in heaven and sent down to earth together, to see if we know what we were taught.” _

Aziraphale felt himself tremble. “Pasternak couldn’t imagine,” He said, but Crowley pulled him into another kiss. Although he had batted his hands away, Aziraphale rushed to pull of his own shirts, and struggled with Crowley’s clothing. 

“Your blasted layers!” He seethed, as if he weren’t wearing a waistcoat, collared shirt,  _ and  _ undershirt. 

Crowley snorted, and with a  _ snap  _ they were both devoid of clothing. Aziraphale let out a satisfied sigh, and pulled his lover on top of him. 

“Don’t stop,  _ please,”  _ Aziraphale begged. Crowley placed kisses to his neck, nibbling on the sensitive skin his lips came across. 

His hands wandered about the lovely softness of the angel below him. Never was he going to be tired of this - of the fact that he had  _ Aziraphale  _ in his arms, in his bed, by his side. Of all the blessings She could have given him, he truly did luck out with the best angel of the Host. With no rush in the world, he prepared his lover. The only miracle he allotted himself was in the lubrication of his own fingers, much preferring to ready him the slower way. Having Aziraphale  _ gasp _ and  _ arch _ below him was the most glorious sight to witness. How shameful it was that no other had other seen such a visage, for there was truly no comparison that could do Aziraphale justice. For a moment, Crowley wished the chance to get a painter, someone to capture such a likeness that he may always be able to witness. But that would involve another seeing Aziraphale, and Crowley could  _ not  _ have that. No, this was his and his alone, and those unfortunate sods would just have to, as his angel liked to say,  _ buck up.  _

_ “I have waited for this opportunity for more than half a century,”  _ He whispered, curling his fingers. Crowley delighted in the gasp he wrung from his lover, the beautiful way Aziraphale arched his back and curled his toes. He added another finger, curling them and rocking them back and forth to draw out moan after moan for his lover.  _ “to repeat to you once again my vow of eternal fidelity and everlasting love.”  _

“Oh,” Aziraphale moaned, “Please, please, dearest, my love-”

“I have you,” Crowley growled, “I’m here.” He withdrew his fingers, and the whimper of despair filled him with such guilt. The demon wasted little time in thrusting into the angel below him. Aziraphale let out a plaintive sigh, leaning up to place a kiss to his lips. Crowley kissed him back, rocking his hips back and forth. He pulled away to press his lips to Aziraphale’s ear once more, still not done. 

“ _ “Love seeketh not itself to please, Nor for itself hath any care; But for another gives its ease, And builds a Heaven in Hell’s despair.” _

Aziraphale mewled, clinging tightly to his lover. “I can’t stand it,” He whispered, “Please, Crowley,”

“You can,” Crowley disagreed, sucking a bruise in that space below his ear that made his lover moan. 

He rode out his pleasure, not rushing to finish. Not wanting to hurry the moment along. Every gasp and mewl he could pull made his own feelings soar higher and higher. For no feeling in the world compared to what it meant to be with his own angel. Aziraphale whispered his own words of love into his ear, and Crowley was satisfied on that alone. 

“I love you,” Crowley said, for the long prose wasn’t really his style, for all that he was adept at reading the words of others. But he didn’t need to give long soliloquies, or put together elaborate sonnets and stories. No. He had six thousand years of his own longing, his own story, with Aziraphale. For Aziraphale, he would memorize and share the words that he needed to hear, but Crowley already knew what was in his heart and mind. And it was greater than any of the words he had already shared, because their’s was a relationship built upon thousands of years of trust and time. 

Aziraphale gasped back, moaning out his own love as Crowley wrapped a hand around his cock. Already aroused from earlier, Aziraphale released, shuddering in his arms. Crowley, for his part, came not too long after his lover. He took a moment to catch his breath, resting his head against Aziraphale’s neck. 

“That was… just marvelous my dear,” Aziraphale smiled up at him. Crowley grinned back. 

“Made my point, did I?” Crowley guessed, and kissed him. Aziraphale gave an appreciative hum, kissing him back. 

“I suppose you did,” Aziraphale said, “But I think a repeat would be appreciated, just to really make sure.” 

Crowley snickered, laying down to spoon his angel. “‘Course, got to make sure I really prove my point” 

“Naturally,” Aziraphale said, letting himself relax. Crowley pressed a kiss to his shoulder. 

A yawn overcame the demon, who snuggled into Aziraphale. _ “I fell in love with you,” _ He said,  _ “The way you fall asleep. Slowly, and then all at once.” _

Aziraphale smiled, and held his hand between his own. 

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think! I'm Shay Moonsilk on Tumblr if you want to DM me there or on Discord :)


End file.
